First Trip
by Aire
Summary: A remix of LOTR with an original character. Read the first part of Chap 1 for a better synopsis.


Garye is sent to LOTR in order to begin his life as a Kamens in study - or is he? He can be a powerful ally, but when you start messing with universes, the plans of their High Deities get screwed up - and things don't always go as planned. Welcome to a remix of the Lord of the Rings, where things don't always happen as intended by Illuvatar or the Valar - and no one is guaranteed to win.

Now that the synopsis is done, greetings! And welcome to my latest escapade. This is a crossover between LOTR and a universe - or, rather, multiverse - of my own design. This fic mainly deals with Garye, a member of the Kamens race. The Kamens are a very old race that has the intrinsic ability - once they acquire enough power - to travel between dimensions. They have a very odd racial memory system - if a Kamens decides he has come across something that would be helpful as a racial memory, he goes before the High Council of the Kamensas, and petitions them for permission. If they agree, it becomes a racial memory, and all Kamens born after that time will have it. As such, they have very odd powers - particularly of Dragonball Z, if only because I like that series - and arcane knowledge. By the way, I will *not* be quoting large portions of the book or movie here. I am assuming you have either read one or seen the other, and as such, I will skim over portions that I don't intend to change. That means *WARNING* SPOILERS FOR THE WHOLE FRIGGIN SERIES. You have been warned.

I own neither the Lord of the Rings nor Dragonball Z. I didn't write the song, either; Tolkien did. Garye, however, and the Kamens race, are mine.

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First Trip

Chapter 1

The boy raised an eyebrow. Okay, so maybe he was slightly older than a boy (by his mother's standards, anyway), but he was not yet grown to manhood. By his father's standards, he would have to live about another billion years (Earth years, of universe 21548, that was) before he could even be classified as an adolescent.

Not that the term "adolescent" as stereotyped among humans could _ever _be applied to a Kamens of comparable age. For one thing, there were none of those annoying hormones . . . and it would take a near-inconceivable amount of any chemical to affect a Kamens so strongly, anyway.

Then again, the boy was only half-Kamens - specifically, he was half human, something that had never happened before in the one hundred billion years the Kamens race had existed. His biology was different from full Kamens; his life would therefore twist in strange and unpredictable ways. The medical equipment had detected the memory of the Kamens form encoded into the boys' DNA (even though he looked human), so that (theoretically) if he could find a source of sufficient power, he could perform the energy-to-mass conversion and transform into the Kamens shape. Whether he would be able to transform back to his human shape was unknown.

Their scientists had attempted to transform him into his Kamensform - with his permission, of course - and run into a snag. Apparently, the energy had to be his - it had to have his bioorganic signature to it - for him to be able to convert himself from a one point eight meter tall, seventy-two kilogram human into a two point four meter Kamens massing half a metric ton.

Had he been full Kamens, commanding that amount of energy would have been child's play, once he came into his full growth. The average Kamens could emit enough energy to match a main sequence yellow star for an infinite amount of time. However, being half human, he would have to train intensely just to reach the amount of power for his transformation - and he may never reach it at all. Although the average Kamens had a life span of roughly ten billion years, it would be impossible to determine the hybrid's projected life span; matching biological charts amongst species was tricky indeed.

Before the boy stood a man, a full-grown adult Kamens. He was not the boy's father, but his caretaker; the father had disappeared shortly after the boy's birth seventeen years ago and had been neither heard of nor seen since. 

The reason the boy was raising his eyebrow at the (currently) blue-skinned, white haired being in front of him was because of what the man was telling him. Namely, that it was time for him to begin performing his duties as a Kamens - which was to explore the universes and add to the collective knowledge of the race, and generally help people if he could. 

"So", said the boy, "you're going to just arbitrarily shove me into another universe."

"That is the general idea, Garye," said the man, holding back a smile. _And - if he survives his first couple weeks - that universe isn't going to know what the hell happened to it._

Garye sighed. "So," he asked, "when do I go?" He would not in a thousand years have expected the answer.

"Actually . . . now." 

"_WHAT?"_

_*pop*_

***********************************************

"Well," remarked Garye as he removed himself from the ground, "_that _was anticlimactic. I was kind of expecting a grand, flashy portal, or something, but _no. _POP! and that's it."

He took some time to take a good look around him. At first he thought he was in a jungle, but then realized that it wasn't hot enough. There were trees all around him, as far as he could see - including upwards. Garye had better night vision than any human, but not even he could see a way out. 

_It's pretty dark here; either it's this planet's version of night or those trees are a lot higher than I can see from here._

Thanks to his caretaker's capabilities as a Kamens, Garye had been to more planets in his short life that most humans ever would - including one universe's version of Earth, whose inhabitants' idea of "night" was having only two suns in the sky instead of five. As such, he was rather open minded as to what degrees of light constituted "day" and "night".

_This cannot be the brightest it ever gets on this planet. It's sun must be more powerful than that, or else it would be much cold- what's that?_

Garye turned and peered through the underbrush in the direction of the noise he heard.

_Oh, shit._

Before him stood some rather unfriendly-looking creatures - and that was just describing their armor. Come to think of it, "stood" seemed to be a rather inaccurate description - they seemed instead to be running at him. And yelling. And swinging rather nasty-looking swords at-

He ducked, and the rusted sword blade swept over his head by less than an inch with a _whoosh _sound, as his mind kicked into overdrive.

_Okay, fighting three aggressive creatures with swords and leather armor - they're humanoid, but I don't know their physiology - _that thought came as he turned to the side to avoid a thrust that would have skewered him - _so what do I do?_

Garye then watched in amazement as his hand, of it's own accord, folded itself into a fist, and struck the first _- goblin? - _in the stomach, then moved in and smoothly elbowed him in the face with enough force to break teeth and knock the thing to the ground, _as his body moved to avoid the near-simultaneous blows of the thing's two partners. _

_What the hell? _he thought frantically. _I've never studied martial arts! _But then the knowledge came to him, clearly and perfectly. _It's - a racial memory. On some planet, somewhere - _and he knew, _instantly, _the planets' name and location - _a Kamens discovered a fighting system for humanoids that would make them near invincible in hand-to-hand combat. Systema. I couldn't remember it before because I am only half Kamens . . . _Even though the entire chain of thought, including the memory of the fighting system, took less than half a second, that was enough time for him to deflect a stab aimed at him onto another creature - with his _chest, _no less - and knock both surviving goblins to the ground.

Yet he remembered the exact wording just as he felt a slash of pain in his back: _near invincible. Not perfect. _Now he sensed - _something else I couldn't do - _three, five - eight more around him. _Shit._

He turned and twisted and struck as well as he could, and to his credit, he did remarkably well; any other creature would have received several mortal wounds in seconds. However, he noticed he was losing energy - and blood - quickly. And then - 

_What, another one's coming? Not that it makes much difference at this point; even racial memories do not instantly give perfection in skills - but it doesn't _feel _bad - _

First, one goblin fell, unnoticed by its fellows. Then another. And another. By the time the third one fell, the others had noticed, and were moving to engage the new threat, giving Garye some breathing room. He noticed that the stranger seemed quite skilled with a sword; within moments, all the remaining goblins were dead. The stranger turned to Garye.

"You fight well, even without a weapon. What is your name?" the man inquired as he cleaned his sword on the grass, then with a rag, and sheathed it. Garye took an instant to take the man in before replying. The stranger was about the same height as Garye himself, although far better built, especially in the chest and wrists - ostensibly from years of wielding a sword. The man's rugged face displayed a confidence developed through decades of experience - but the man didn't _look _that old . . .

"Garye," he finally answered. "May I ask yours?"

"I am called Strider," said the man. "I am a Ranger of the North." He looked at Garye intently. "It is dangerous to wander the wilds of Mirkwood, especially unarmed; the orcs are many and dangerous. What brings you here?"

"I . . . sort of got lost," said Garye, hoping that Strider would simply accept that answer. Evidently, he would, because he turned away without another word. 

"I will gather some wood for a fire. I suggest you do the same; night is approaching swiftly." 

Even as the stranger spoke, Garye took a step forward - and collapsed in pain. His legs refused to hold him any longer.

_Damn - they must have hurt me worse than I thought._

Strider's eyes lit up with calm concern. "You are wounded more badly than I feared," he murmured as he knelt next to Garye and began checking his wounds. He pulled a soft cloth from his pack and placed it under Garye's head. "Rest here," he said. "I will start a fire and tend to your wounds." Strider was gone an instant later, soundlessly moving through the woods, but Garye could still sense his location somehow. He took his time to reflect upon his situation.

_Okay, so I'm in the middle of Mirkwood - guess that's the name of this place. From what he said - and by the fact that I can't see even the hint of a sky - I'm guessing this place is pretty big. I doubt it's a forest planet, though, if only because I want to. And now I know that things called orcs are bad . . . I know that there's an organization known as the Rangers, and that there's at least a subsection of them that operate exclusively in the north . . . and unless Strider - good name, considering how quickly he walks - is out of his territory, I'm in the north. If this is the north, then I'd hate to see how hot the south is._

Strider himself is . . . strange, even by my standards. He's hiding something in his personality that's powerful - not evil, just frighteningly powerful . . . I wonder what it is? Anyway, he's older than he looks. Damn good with a sword too, and apparently knows something of how to treat wounds - although those last two really shouldn't be surprising for someone who spends his time wandering around in areas even he calls dangerous . . . I believe he can be trusted. I will travel with him - for now, anyway - if he will have me.

He sensed Strider's presence just as the ranger dropped a load of wood on the ground and began kindling. Strider proved to be as adept with fire starting as he was with a sword, and they soon had a good-sized blaze going. He then produced a small kettle filled with water, and some dried leaves.

"This is athelas, called kingsfoil in the South," he explained. "It was often used by the men of Westernesse to treat wounds, but it grows not in Mirkwood; they never dwelt here. These leaves are several weeks old, but they should still hold some of their virtue." Strider then crushed the leaves in his hands and mixed them with the water from the kettle.

Garye's nostrils twitched slightly. _Wow, that smells - good, yes, but that's not the word I want - fresh! It smells fresh, and if possible, I would even say . . . sublime. _Garye rested his head on the cloth as Strider poured the water over his wounds. _Will I get any stronger from this? Kamens always get stronger after a battle - the more damage they take, the stronger they get - but I'm only half Kamens. Oh well; at least I know I heal faster than humans do. Faster than Kamens do, as well; that's kind of nuts, I suppose._

Those were his last thoughts as he drifted off into sleep.

***********************************************************

He awoke sometime in the night, enveloped in a generally good feeling. His mind, for once, was empty of all thoughts and concerns. Eventually he wondered how well he was healing. He reached down underneath his robe-like garment and raised an eyebrow in surprise; the healing was proceeding considerably quicker than normal, even for him, although there was still a fair way to go. He silently gave thanks for the plant as he let himself drift back into sleep. Full-blooded Kamens didn't need to sleep at all, and even as a hybrid he only needed three hours a night, but he could sleep at will, and it sped up the healing process. He set his internal clock to wake him in four hours just before he totally lost consciousness.

His first action when he awoke was to raise an eyebrow. _Yes, _he thought, _I definitely got stronger. A _whole _lot stronger. _He sat up, noting the lack of any kind of animal noise. Sound did not travel here; it just fell flat.

"How are your wounds?" Garye turned to see Strider behind him. Garye reached down and felt - and raised both eyebrows.

"Gone," he answered.

Now it was Strider's turn to raise an eyebrow. "Gone? Those were serious wounds, and the athelas could not have healed them so quickly . . . ."

Garye shrugged. "Nevertheless, they are gone. Perhaps they were not as bad as you thought?"

Strider was giving him the same intent look he had yesterday. "Yes . . . perhaps they were not. If you're well, then I should be going." He bent briefly and retrieved his pack from the soft ground.

Garye scrambled to his feet. "Strider - wait a minute," he said. "Would it be all right if I traveled with you? Just for a while," he added.

Strider paused, considering. "Very well," he finally said. "If you can keep up; I must travel quickly." With that he set off jogging at a fairly fast pace.

"No problem," said Garye to himself, and in moments had caught up. He caught a faint feeling of surprise from Strider, as though he had not expected to be caught, but he said nothing.

****************************************************************

Several hours later, Aragorn decided he was fairly impressed. _He fights extremely well, even unarmed - he doesn't need much sleep - and he heals swiftly. He can also keep up with me, despite the fact that he was badly injured yesterday - and he has learned to travel with an acceptable amount of noise. I could do worse for a traveling companion, _he noted. _He is not evil, I would stake my life on that - but what is he? And will he help us in the fight against Sauron? He could render great aid, in protecting the Halflings - but first, I must see his strength of will, and how easily he will fall into evil. I must watch him for signs of pride. It is a race, now - will the Halflings reach Bree before I do? I am certain that Gandalf will be with them, so they should be safe - but not even he could withstand the Nine, if they set upon him at once in the night. I must reach Bree as soon as possible!_

And, several weeks and a harrowing trip through the pass of Caradhas (where, Aragorn discovered, Garye was also resistant to cold), they did.

***************************************************************

Garye looked around the common room of the inn he and Strider were staying in. He had forgotten the name already; it was the . . . Dancing Pony . . . or maybe the . . . Prancing Cow . . . but the name didn't matter. The ale, he discovered, did. And the slight fact that this was the only inn in all of Bree. Three days ago, Strider had revealed the story of the Ring to him, and asked for his help in protecting the hobbits. Garye had, of course, agreed. And now they were in their third night at the inn.

Around him, most of the thick wooden tables were taken. A perpetual haze seemed to fill the air, though not of smoke. He and Strider were sitting in a corner, where they could not easily be noticed - but he still saw people give them suspicious looks. Not that the villagers were the personifications of the virtues themselves; particularly that one they called Bill Ferny, and his friend . . . he cocked an eyebrow as Ferny gave Strider a particularly vile look. Garye nudged Strider slightly and nodded at Ferny.

"What's his problem?" he murmured so that no one else could hear. "Does he work for . . . uh . . . Big Ugly?" asked Garye, deciding it would probably be a bad idea to outright say "Sauron" or "The Dark Lord" or especially "Do you think he's after the Ring?" in a place such as this.

Strider considered Ferny for a moment. "He certainly wants to . . . he will never amount to much, even in the hierarchy of evil. It would destroy him. Still, he could prove highly detrimental to our plans if he says the wrong thing at the wrong time. His friend is even worse." He suddenly sat up straight. "Look, now. They have just arrived. But," he mused, more to himself than Garye, "where is Gandalf?"

Even as Strider spoke, Garye saw four child-size people enter the common room. Or, more accurately, he saw the curly hair of what he assumed to be four child-size people enter the common room. He turned to Strider. "Hobbits?" he murmured. 

Strider nodded, keeping his attention tightly focused upon the halflings. "When I was outside earlier, I happened to overhear a conversation amongst the hobbits." He looked at Garye briefly. "Frodo, the one who carries It, is traveling under the name of Mr. Underhill," he said softly.

Garye smirked. "I see. You "overheard" them, did you?"

Strider raised an eyebrow. "Yes. What of it?" 

"Noooooothing." Garye watched as a serving wench passed by, carrying a tray of mugs of ale to a roaring crowd in the center of the room. And then he heard a sharp intake of breath from Strider simultaneously with -

_There is an inn, a merry old inn, _

beneath an old grey hill.

And there they brew a beer so brown

that the Man in the Moon himself came down

one night to drink his fill.

He looked up in sheer surprise to see one of the hobbits dancing and singing on the table. From Strider's earlier description of him, he guessed it had to be Frodo.

__

The ostler has a tipsy cat

that plays a five-stringed fiddle;

and up and down he runs his bow

now squeaking high, now purring low,

now sawing in the middle.

Garye was incensed. "_What does that little idiot think he is doing?" _he hissed. Strider shook his head firmly once - both an answer and a warning against further speech.

__

The landlord keeps a little dog

that is mighty fond of jokes

When there's good cheer among the guests

he cocks an ear at all the jests

and laughs until he chokes.

Years of experience and discipline were all that kept Strider from visibly reacting to Frodo's display of carelessness and . . . hobbit-ness, for lack of a better word. He resolved to have a word - several of them, actually - with Frodo later that night.

__

They also keep a horned cow

As proud as any queen

But music turns her head like ale

It makes her wave her tufted tail

And dance upon the green.

But then Strider noticed two things Garye had overlooked - two things that considerably raised his opinion of Frodo. First, he noticed the presence of Merry at the bar with the humans, apparently quite intoxicated - and with a mug of ale half as big as he was. The second thing was that Frodo, despite his outward act of silliness, was really deadly serious and quite nervous. His eyes moved to Ferny's friend for a moment and noticed that he had noticed the same things.

__

And O! the rows of silver dishes

and the store of silver spoons!

For Sunday there's a special pair

and these they polish up with care

on Saturday afternoons.

Garye listened as Frodo finished the song - something about the Man in the Moon getting drunk and cows jumping over carriages and the Moon rolling over hills - and then-

_He's going to fall!_

And Frodo did indeed fall, tumbling backwards off the table, knocking a tray of mugs out of the hands of a serving wench as he did so and - 

- and vanished.

Strider's mouth tightened into a line. Garye visibly winced. And two minutes later, a very worried (and dusty) hobbit appeared in front of the two. Garye sat back and listened as Frodo and Strider had a short conversation that a few minutes later ended up with three of the hobbits, Strider, and Garye in the hobbits' room. He sat next to the door and listened as Strider discussed the Ring with the hobbits - and offered him his services as a guide. He watched intently as the hobbits argued with one another as to whether or not they should take him. Then there was a knock on the door. Frodo answered it, and the innkeeper came in.

The innkeeper gave Frodo a letter from Gandalf, and they talked for a bit, and he mentioned that Strider had tried to get in to see Frodo before he went to the common room, at which point Frodo pointed behind him, and the landlord turned to see Strider and Garye leaning against the wall next to the door. The innkeeper all but exploded.

"You! You're always popping up. What do you want now?"

"Well hello to you too, beautiful," remarked Garye, even though he knew full well that the innkeeper was not talking to him.

And so it came to pass that one incident with Ringwraiths and pillows later, the hobbits accepted Strider as a guide, and the six of them set out into the wild.

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So that's Chapter One. I apologize for the sharp jumps between parts - but not only did I want to get to the start of the story, I'm not going to write things that I don't intend to change, as I said above. There won't be a lot of changes at first, but by the end - by the time Garye has gotten around a bit and accidentally messed up some plans - believe me, I'll be writing every single event.


End file.
